- SMWI*: Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration. Spoof of Nike’s “swoosh” symbol and “Just Do It” exercise ad campaign.
- Source: TheMetaPicture
Traffic. People. People. People. Lines. Lines. Lines. Fast Pass. Strollers. Wheelchairs. Electric scooters. Cameras. iPhones. Texting.
Sun. Heat. Humidity. Sunscreen. Afternoon Rains. Ponchos. Sticky.
Hot dogs. Corn dogs. Burgers. Chili cheese fries. Soft serve ice cream. Asian Chicken wings. Spicy Chicken Sandwiches. Coke (diet). Frozen Minute Made lemonade. Turkey Legs (NOT!). Indigestion.
Test Track. Splash Mountain. Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Tower of Terror. Expedition Everest. Dinosaur. Kali River Rapids. Dad sits them all out. Nauseous just watching.
Old favorites. Kilimanjaro Safari. Haunted Mansion. Pirates of Caribbean. Jungle Cruise. Epcot. Parades. Marching Bands. Fireworks.
“And now here’s the thing. It takes a time like this for you to find out how sore your heart has been, and, moreover, all the while you thought you were going around idle terribly hard work was taking place. Hard, hard work, excavation and digging, mining, moiling through tunnels, heaving, pushing, moving rock, working, working, working, working, panting, hauling, hoisting. And none of this work is seen from the outside. It’s internally done. It happens because you are powerless and unable to get anywhere, to obtain justice or have requital, and therefore in yourself you labor, you wage and combat, settle scores, remember insults, fight, reply, deny, blab, denounce, triumph, outwit, overcome, vindicate, cry, persist, absolve, die and rise again. All by yourself? Where is everybody? Inside your breast and skin, the entire cast.”
- Saul Bellow
Saul Bellow (1915 – 2005) was a Canadian-born American writer. He was born in Lachine, Quebec and died in Brookline, MA. For his literary contributions, Bellow was awarded the Pulitzer Prize, the Nobel Prize for Literature, and the National Medal of Arts. He is widely regarded as one of the 20th century’s greatest authors. Bellow grew up as an insolent slum kid, a “thick-necked” rowdy, and an immigrant from Quebec. As Christopher Hitchens describes it, Bellow’s fiction and principal characters reflect his own yearning for transcendence, a battle “to overcome not just ghetto conditions but also ghetto psychoses. The author’s works speak to the disorienting nature of modern civilization, and the countervailing ability of humans to overcome their frailty and achieve greatness (or at least awareness). Bellow saw many flaws in modern civilization, and its ability to foster madness, materialism and misleading knowledge. Principal characters in Bellow’s fiction have heroic potential, and many times they stand in contrast to the negative forces of society. (Source: Wiki)
Good Thursday morning. Here we go on my ride of inspiring posts of the week:
- Diana Schwenk @ Talk to Diana with her post titled What Can Compare to Love?: “…Ahh the beautiful things I have seen; like sunsets/rises, the detailed design and brilliant colours on butterflies, the turquoise lakes in the Canadian Rocky Mountains…and the beautiful sounds I have heard; like the waves crashing on the shore, the wind blowing through autumn leaves, the crickets’ song at night, a lone wolf howling at the moon…and the beautiful textures I have touched or been touched by; walking barefoot on lush grass, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, the cleansing coolness of water on a hot day…and the beautiful things I have tasted; like a crisp and juicy apple freshly picked from a tree, bread fresh from the oven slathered in butter, a cold beer on a hot day...Read more of this wonderful post at this link.
- Katy @ k8edid with her post Stuck in the Middle (Age) With You: “…#4 Half the Distance Takes You Twice as Long: I can no longer open jars by myself, my eyesight is failing faster than my vision insurance covers new lenses, and my teeth are wearing down. I have fillings older than many billionaire CEO whippersnappers and they are working loose at an alarming rate (the fillings – not the CEOs). My joints are achy and any rapid movements could land me in traction. While I don’t yet need a hover-round, I am not exactly zipping about on foot, either. I’ve traded sexy shoes for comfortable ones. I spend 2 hours a day on exercise – an hour dreading it, half an hour trying to talk myself into it (by promising myself a bowl of ice cream afterward), and 30 minutes letting the dog drag me down the sidewalk”…Wonderful post (true and funny). Read more @ this link.
- Dr. James Stratford @ Beyond the Call with his post: Finding our Bliss: ”We’ve all had them, those moments when we’re reminded just why it is that we love what we do…When we find our bliss we find what we love, we connect with it at a deep level, and through it we experience more of ourselves just as we also let go of any fears or doubts.” Read about his Dr. Stratford’s specific moments of bliss at this link. [Read more...]
Here’s Mnozil with their rendition of Paul Anka’s Lonely Boy…
Source: Thank you Rolly
How about some encouragement licks? Good morning.
The Head and The Heart is an indie folk-pop band from Seattle, Washington that was formed in the summer of 2009. The band self-released their debut album The Head and The Heart in June 2009, selling it at concerts, by word of mouth, and through local record stores. In the ensuing months the album sold 10,000 copies. Their music plays heavily on the trio of vocal harmonies, piano and violin melodies, and prominent drums and percussion. The band has toured extensively through 2010 and 2011 in both the United States and Europe, opening for Vampire Weekend, The Walkmen, Dr. Dog, Dave Matthews, The Low Anthem, The Decemberists, Iron & Wine, My Morning Jacket, and Death Cab For Cutie, as well as headlining their own shows. In March 2011, Seattle’s City Arts Magazine named them “Seattle’s Best New Band”, and the band made their network television debut on April 21, 2011 on Conan. (Source: Wiki)
I found today’s editorial message in the NY Times to poignantly yet beautifully capture the spirit of today.
“If you listen carefully, you can almost hear the silence at the heart of Memorial Day — the inward turn that thoughts take on a day set aside to honor the men and women who have died in the service of this country.
It is the silence of soldiers who have not yet been, and may never be, able to talk about what they learned in war, the silence of grief so familiar that it feels like a second heartbeat. This is a day for acknowledging, publicly, the private memorial days that lie scattered throughout the year, a day when all the military graves are tended to, even the ones that someone tends to regularly as a way of remembering.
It always seems strange the way the fond, sober gestures of memory coincide with the last flush of spring, while the trees are still lit from within by their chartreuse leaves. The year is still rising, just. And yet it is something you often see recorded in the books and diaries of men and women at war — the sharp interruption of beauty, the moments, hours even, when the vivid tenacity of life itself feels most tangible, even in the midst of death. On a bright, beautiful Memorial Day, you feel, as clearly as you may ever feel, the profound separation between the living and the dead. This is the strangeness of the day, because that separation is a source of both joy and loss. [Read more...]
The story was titled: Martin Picard’s Fried Pancakes with Warm Maple Cream Syrup.
My Food-dar Radar was SCREAMING. STOP! READ! Goodness ahead.
Martin Picard, is a Montreal chef, who has devoted his newest restaurant, Cabane à Sucre Au Pied de Cochon (in English he calls it Sugar Shack), to celebrating maple syrup. In the article, he shares a recipe for deep-fried pancakes with a warm cream and raspberry maple syrup.
The story here, in my opinion, is not Picard’s pancakes. No. No. No Sir. Way, way too much work.
Go ahead and make your usual pancakes. From scratch. Aunt Jemima. Whatever.
Make the syrup as instructed in the recipe below. Only recommended change: Double up (or Triple) the raspberries.
If there is a God, he eats his pancakes with WARM CREAM AND RASPBERRY MAPLE SYRUP.
It’s Saturday. 5:30 am. 45F. Drizzling.
Zeke is up early. Which means his keeper (Susan) is too. She’s at the kitchen table sipping coffee and reading The Times. He’s looking up at her, being cute, sitting like Royalty, waiting for a hand-out. It’s Banana today. Dog loves bananas. Who knew?
He watches me warily. It has become the weekend routine. He sits between his Mom’s legs. Growls at me. Signaling, No way in H*ll I’m going out with you. No Way. Fur is up at the back of his neck. I approach. “Let’s go Bud. Let’s go for a run.” He shows me his teeth…and emits a low raspy growl. And then another. Yep. Pure bred running dog. This is what it’s come to.
On with the gear. Accessories first. Garmin GPS. iPod. Ear Phones. Water bottle into black waist pouch. Then on with the suit. Black running pants. Black rain slicker. Black Baseball cap (not water proof). Red and Black Brooks running shoes. Batman is ready. The Dark Knight Rides. He’s off.
Mile One. It’s drizzling. But manageable. Light rain and mist. Feels refreshing on the skin. Miles. I’m going to do Miles today. [Read more...]
Surely you've seen the Follow Me To photography series created by Photographer, Murad Osmann. He documents his travels by taking pictures of his girlfriend leading the way around the world. Her back is always facing him, never showing her face. She leads us around the globe to some of the most beautiful locations filled with romance and excitement. All images are taken and posted to his
- SMWI*: Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
- Source: TheMeta Picture
John Butler, 38, is an Australian American musician, songwriter, record label owner and producer. He is the front man for the John Butler Trio, a roots and jam band, which formed in Fremantle, Western Australia in 1998. His recordings and live performances have met with critical praise and have garnered awards from the Australian Performing Right Association and Australian Recording Industry Association. Butler was born in the United States and moved to Australia at an early age. He began playing the guitar at the age of sixteen. (Source: Wiki)
Music Source: Knowledgeandlove
It was last month. I don’t recall the day. Just another weekday.
Off to work. Barreling down I-95. Same route. Each day. Autopilot. Not Kabat-Zinn’s Mindfulness. Simple Mindlessness.
Flicking through iPod. Can’t settle on a band or a tune. Restless.
Foot heavy on accelerator. Glance at speedometer. Pushing your luck Pal. Only a matter of time. And you’ll earn it. (Again.)
Traffic backs up at Stamford exits as morning rush hour builds.
A black Chevrolet pick-up swings into my lane.
The iconic orange, white and black Harley logo on rear window.
Left hand bumper is adorned with a frayed sticker: 1968-1972: Marines. Vietnam Vet.
Connecticut Plate 123JAR.
What does JAR stand for? [Read more...]
Imagine if for the next twenty-four hours you had to wear a cap that amplified your thoughts so that everyone within a hundred yards of you could hear every thought that passed through your head. Imagine if the mind were broadcast so that all about you could overhear your thoughts and fantasies, your dreams and fears. How embarrassed or fearful would you be to go outside? How long would you let your fear of the mind continue to isolate you from the hearts of others? And though this experiment sounds like one which few might care to participate in, imagine how freeing it would be at last to have nothing to hide. And how miraculous it would be to see that all others’ minds too were filled with the same confusion and fantasies, the same insecurity and doubt. How long would it take the judgmental mind to begin to release its grasp, to see through the illusion of separateness, to recognize with some humor the craziness of all beings’ minds, the craziness of mind itself?”
“But I think it is very useful, and indeed more accurate, to call it “the mind” instead of “my mind.”
- Stephen Levine
Stephen Levine, 75, is an American poet, author and Buddhist teacher. He was born in Albany, New York, Levine attended the University of Miami. He spent time helping the sick and dying, using meditation as a method of treatment. He is the author of several books about dying, Levine and his wife Ondrea spent one year living as if it were their last. For many years, Stephen and Ondrea have been living in near seclusion in the mountains of Northern New Mexico. They are both currently experiencing significant illness which prevents them from travelling and teaching. One of the most significant aspects of Stephen’s work and one for which he is perhaps best known, is his pioneering approach to working with the experience of grief. Over 34 years, Stephen and his wife Ondrea have counselled concentration camp survivors and their children, Vietnam War veterans as well as victims of sexual abuse. Although Stephen acknowledges that our experience of grief is perhaps at its most intense when a loved one dies, he also draws our attention to grief’s more subtle incarnations. “Our ordinary, everyday grief,” accumulates as a response to the “burdens of disappointments and disillusionment, the loss of trust and confidence that follows the increasingly less satisfactory arch of our lives”. (Source: Wiki)
“I do it for me and like-minded people. That’s it. That’s it. My career, I look at it in a Darwinian framework. I’m going to do exactly what I want, and I’m going to survive or I’m not. I’m not going to pander, I’m not going to change things, I’m not going to do focus groups. I’ll live and die by the sword. I don’t care. Because I couldn’t live with myself…Everything I’ve done has been existential. Everything, really. Everything is always about, ‘Am I living a good life? Am I making the most of my life?’”
Clips from GQ.com (Note “R” rated for vulgar language): Chris Heath on Gervais: “…I think there is a sense that someone who seemed like one of us, and on our side, may have slipped his moorings.” [Read more...]
So bizarre…yet I couldn’t stop watching and laughing. (Family said I was all alone in liking this one.) And, have no idea what the ending signifies. Exhaustion?
Good Wednesday morning. Inspiring posts were gushing over the dam this week. Here we go on my ride of inspiring posts of the week:
- Sun Dog kicks us off with a photograph of a sunrise over the Black Sea.
- LaDona @ LaDona’s Music Studio with her post titled This One Hurts. Short. Picture is worth 1000 words. Yes. I was moved.
- Ivon @ Teacher as Transformer with his post I Walked a Mile with Pleasure: “…Leave nothing behind and look back only at the good that came of it. Know you served well those you met on the path. Hold your head high…” Hit this link.
- Serenity Spell with her post titled A Heavenly Hardwood Swamp: “Earth’s crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes. — Elizabeth Barrett Browning” Beautiful post. A daily stop for me. Read more at this link.
- Misifusa @ Misifusa’s Blog with her post titled Rest in the Clouds. My Rachel shared this with me last night and encouraged me to watch. You are going to say, you don’t have time to watch. Yes you do. Yes you do. Hit this link. [Read more...]
It’s lunch. It’s a small informal gathering. Light conversation.
Discussion turns to summer vacations. And rolls around the table clockwise. One is going to the Far East with family. Another to the Cape. A third to Montreal.
The must see art exibits. The lazy days at the beach. Late afternoon cappucinos at the outdoor cafes on the cobblestone streets. Evenings spent people watching from the hotel veranda. The concerts on the grass.
I feign a glance at my watch and look right. I can sense the uneasiness. She’s shifting uncomfortably. Rubbing her hands. Her forehead is glistening. (Dr. Cal Lighman, Lie to Me, flashes up.)
It’s her turn. Everyone’s eyes shift and wait. An uncomfortable silence. A pause in the discussion of the world tours. There’s a surge in my chest. [Read more...]
“Patient acceptance is often considered a weak and passive response to problems that we do not have the power or courage to solve. In reality, however, being patient is far from being passive. There is nothing strong or courageous in reacting to hardship or insults with anger – all we are doing is being defeated by our delusions.”
~ Geshe Kelsang Gyatso (from “How to Solve Our Human Problems”)
Kelsang Gyatso is a Buddhist monk, “meditation master, scholar, and author” of 22 books based on the teachings of Tibetan Buddhism. He was born in Tibet in 1931 and ordained at the age of eight. After leaving Tibet, he spent eighteen years in retreat in the Himalayas in India. He subsequently became a teacher and founder of spiritual centers. He retired as General Spiritual Director of the NKT-IKBU in August 2009 but continues to write books and practice materials. (Source: Wiki)
Note to Self: Patience (Still seeking). Acceptance (Try it. Just once.). Delusions (Thank you Monk Master for the ah ha moment.)
Simple illustration. Various applications.
Source: Carl Richards
Accompanied with stunned look and all.
“Waking up is unpleasant, you know. You are nice and comfortable in bed. It is irritating to be woken up. That’s the reason the wise guru will not attempt to wake people up. I hope I’m going to be wise here and make no attempt whatsoever to wake you up if you are asleep. It is really none of my business, even though I say to you at times, “Wake up!” My business is to do my thing, to dance my dance. As the Arabs say, “The nature of rain is the same, but it makes thorns grow in the marshes and flowers in the gardens.”
- Anthony de Mello
Anthony “Tony” de Mello (4 September 1931, Bombay, British India – 2 June 1987, New York City) was a Jesuit priest and psychotherapist who became widely known for his books on spirituality. An internationally acclaimed spiritual guide, writer and public speaker, de Mello hosted many spiritual conferences. The few talks which he allowed to be filmed, such as “A Rediscovery of Life” and “A Way to God for Today,” have inspired many viewers and audiences since being released; and have been viewed by hundreds of thousands of TV watchers throughout the United States, Canada, and Central America; in colleges, universities, Newman centers, and communities. De Mello established a prayer center in India. He died suddenly of a heart attack in 1987, at age 56. Source (Wiki)
Source: Head Like An Orange
Zeke’s paws are scratching. He’s dreaming. His body twitching. I steal a glance at the clock. 1:15 am. I smile. You go from refusing a dog for 20 years, to the animal taking center stage on your bed. Every night. What a tough guy.
He knows. Dogs have a second sense. Even when he’s sleeping, he hears.
Car door shuts. It’s Rachel. Rolling in from her evening out.
I lumber down to her room. Bathroom door is closed. Water is running. I lie down on her bed. Stare at the ceiling. And wait.
Mind whirs back to a moment during the week. I’m driving into Manhattan. Rush hour. Traffic stalled. GPS flashes a 3-mile backup to the Triboro bridge. Beach Avenue and Bruckner. Young girl is holding her Dad’s hand. They are crossing the walkway over I-278. Her passion pink backpack sharply contrasting with the streaks of graffiti. The pair offering up a burst of illumination against the grey of the housing projects and the trash lining the freeway. Their hands and arms sway in unison. Dad smiling. She’s skipping to keep up.
That day, Mind was crocheting stitches of a majestic tapestry. One of family. Of warm spring days. Of light breezes. All storm clouds pushed way south. And the Moment hovered. All week.
Why this moment? This was not an impressionist by Monet. Not a intricate passage by Joyce or a dreamy segue by Murakami. No deep existential words here by Kierkegaard. Not a big win at Work. A Father. A daughter. A pink backpack. Walking over a dilapidated bridge in the Projects.
Nuit Blanche (Sleepless Night) explores a fleeting moment between two strangers, revealing their brief connection in a hyper real fantasy. Magic…
He was born with cystic fibrosis, a chronic progressive disease characterized by a thick, sticky mucous that clogs the lungs. Each day, he takes 50-70 pills. And he hooks himself up to a machine called the vest that shakes his upper body for 1-1.5 hours a day to loosen the mucus from his lungs. All this – - so he can run. He’s run 6 marathons, five of which have been under 4 hours. Why does he do it?
“I do it because I want to prove to myself that I can…I run because one day I might not able to.”
Source: Thank you lybio.net
And you wait. You wait for the one thing
that will change your life,
make it more than it is -
something wonderful, exceptional,
stones awakening, depths opening to you.
In the dusky bookstalls
old books glimmer gold and brown.
You think of lands you journeyed through,
of paintings and a dress once worn
by a woman you never found again.
And suddenly you know: that was enough.
You rise and there appears before you
in all its longings and hesitations
the shape of what you lived.
- Rainer Maria Rilke
“We’ve all led raucous lives,
some of them inside, some of them out.
But only the poem you leave behind is what’s important.
Everyone knows this.
The voyage into the interior is all that matters,
Whatever your ride.
Sometimes I can’t sit still for all the asininities I read.
Give me the hummingbird, who has to eat sixty times
His own weight a day just to stay alive.
Now that’s a life on the edge.”
― Charles Wright
Charles Wright, born 1935, is often ranked as one of the best American poets of his generation. Born in 1935 in Pickwick Dam, Tennessee, Wright attended Davidson College and he served four years in the U.S. Army, and it was while stationed in Italy that Wright began to read and write poetry. His many collections of poetry and numerous awards—including the Pulitzer Prize, the Griffin International Poetry Prize, and a Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize—have proven that he is, as Jay Parini once said, “among the best poets” of his generation. Yet Wright remains stoic about such achievements: it is not the poet, but the poems, as he concluded to Genoways. “One wants one’s work to be paid attention to, but I hate personal attention. I just want everyone to read the poems. I want my poetry to get all the attention in the world, but I want to be the anonymous author.”
I board the 5:59 am Metro North train to Grand Central.
I settle in with the morning news. Rifling through the papers. Eyes scanning headlines. Going no deeper. Distracted. Then annoyed at my lack of focus. I turn to my work papers to prep for my late morning meeting. Mind wanders again. I toss them in my bag in frustration. I lean my head against the window. Close my eyes. And listen.
There’s no conversation. No disturbance of the clickety clack except for the periodic rough jostling of the rail cars on uneven rails. This being no high-speed train.
Conductor breaks the rhythm.
“Tickets. Tickets please.”
I pull the ticket out of my shirt pocket.
Conductor stops five rows up.
“Sir, these tickets are for non-peak rides.”
Soft voice responds but words are undecipherable.
“No, sir. You will need to purchase Peak ride tickets.”
Other riders now rubbernecking to check out the break in morning routine. [Read more...]
A bit of hump day inspiration. Time to get after it!
Good Wednesday morning. I’ve been on a siesta the last few weeks with my inspiring posts of the week. We’re back.
Kurt Harden @ Cultural Offering with his post titled You Sir at Pump 16…. I watched this clip three times. Susan watched it. The kids watched it. We all loved it. Do yourself a favor and start your day with a smile. Hit this link.
Rian @ Truth and Cake with her post Forget The Blueprint, Ride the Mechanical Bull: “…Often, we’re so hellbent on getting it right that we miss the point entirely. The right career, the right school, the right spouse, the right restaurant, the movie with the good reviews, wearing the right outfit and snagging that just right opportunity and hopefully doing something really meaningful and perfect with our lives: these things obsess us. I can look back on a (very large) handful of times in my life when I was given an amazing opportunity or experiencing something really great that, in retrospect, I stressed way too much over. Will I blow this? Will it work out? Where’s the next opportunity going to come from? What if people think I’m crazy?…Read more of this great post from a Freshly Pressed Blogger @ this link.
Seventhvoice with her post A Childless Mother, Is still A Mother. Though her arms may be empty… her heart never will: “Mother’s Day has always been an incredibly difficult day for me. Filled as it is with mixed emotions but not for the reasons you might think. It’s not a difficult day for me because I have a son with Autism or a daughter on the spectrum. In many ways their presence here helps to counteract the whirlpool of emotions that this day normally stirs up in me. Mother’s day is hard for me because I am, or at least I would have been, had everything gone to plan, the mother of seven children. You see, four of my lovely ones never made it kicking and screaming into the light of this world…” Read more of this moving post @ this link.
“Don’t google your name. Ever.
Don’t “search” for yourself
on anything that glows in the dark.
Don’t let your beauty
be something anyone can turn off.
Don’t edit your ugly out of your bio.
Let your light come from the fire.
Let your pain be the spark,
but not the timber.
Remember, you didn’t come here
to write your heart out.
You came to write it in.”
— Andrea Gibson
Toronto had a 4-1 lead over Boston in the final period. No team had ever won a Game 7 after trailing by three goals in the third period. No team, that is, until Boston roared back last night with four goals in 16 minutes, 47 seconds. Toronto retains a firm grip on a longstanding and dubious distinction – a 44-year drought since winning its last Stanley Cup in 1969. The picture says it all. Maple Leaf Fans. Cursed. And cursing. Suffering the agony of defeat yet again. Baseball anyone?
Source: National Post